


Into the Trunk

by whoseeswhatsyetunseen



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Escape, F/M, Inspired by Dreams, Kissing, Protectiveness, Sexual Tension, action/drama, car trunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoseeswhatsyetunseen/pseuds/whoseeswhatsyetunseen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So many violent and angry people are swarming and fighting.  Yelling and tearing the place apart and I’m terrified.  I try to look everywhere and yet focus on nothing.  I feel like I might be on the edge of sanity.</p><p>He takes back his keys and awkwardly pulls me to him and pushes my face into his chest; to muffle my sobs that are almost shrieks.  He doesn’t say anything.  He just holds me and soon I notice the hand on my back is rubbing gently up and down even while the one on the back of my head keeps me as quiet as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Trunk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SarahJStar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahJStar/gifts).



> So, this happened because I took a nap in the middle of my Saturday and I had a weird dream that was basically this. In my dream, the man was faceless/ nameless---you know how remembering dreams can be. But as I was writing it out, I started to get a very G Callen vibe, so just decided to go with it. This is my first ncis:la fanfic.
> 
> Basic setup: the narrator is a witness and/or victim that Callen has been sent to retrieve. It’s in a non-US country. They’ve known each other for a short period only. The point of this wasn’t for plot detail but just emotions. I might revisit and flesh out the befores and afters at another time.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. For SarahJStar because her Nallen stories got me thinking...

We are trapped with a mob, of rioters, about to storm the building.  We’re in danger.  I’m scared but I’m with him, so I try to stay calm.

I’m trying to pull some pants on over my gym shorts and put on shoes when they get in.  Loud and angry and scary.  They focus on other things while he and another guy, (one I thought would be our enemy too), start trying to break us OUT.

He smashes a crystal glass and scratches a giant x in the large window.  And then the two of them throw a couple chairs; the window shatters out.  I don’t know if it was the x or the chairs or luck.  I don’t actually care.

I get the pants on and the fly closed, but I give up and just hold my shoes even though I know there is glass.  He grabs them and shoves my bare feet into them but we don’t have time to tie them.

So many violent and angry people are swarming and fighting.  Yelling and tearing the place apart and I’m terrified.  I try to look everywhere and yet focus on nothing.  I feel like I might be on the edge of sanity.

“Take my keys.”  I stare at him; he grabs my arm and almost yells in my face, “Hey!  Take the keys!”  And he gestures to his coat pocket.  I reach in and get them.  He moves me, us, toward the now escape window.  “Just like before, with the trunk, wait until we are closer.”

He assumes I can think, that I can recall what he means.  I do, somehow; I think it’s only because I am looking at his face.

All three of us get out, (not that I can describe how, since it’s all a blur, cliché, but that’s the truth.)  But I don’t know where that other guy goes.  Again, I seem incapable of caring.  I can smell burning, and blood, and my heart is trying to jump out of my chest, and I want to scream, but there isn’t time.

We crouch-run through the bushes that edge the parking lot.  Streams of rioters are still entering through the mail gate and doors and we don’t want them to turn their wrath upon us.

“Ok,” I barely hear him.  I look up and see his car fifty yards away.  I click unlock, unlock, trunk and then he is launching himself into the empty trunk and I do the same, although it is with far less grace.

He pushes my head down and slams the lid closed and in the sudden dim, I hit lock more times than I need to and the beep beep, beep beep seems horribly loud and I’m sure that people will follow it and attack the car and us and I look over at him and burst into tears.

He takes back his keys and awkwardly pulls me to him and pushes my face into his chest; to muffle my sobs that are almost shrieks.  He doesn’t say anything.  He just holds me and soon I notice the hand on my back is rubbing gently up and down even while the one on the back of my head keeps me as quiet as possible.

Soon I’m just weeping silently, shaking in his arms, and we can hear the distant screams and bangs and crashes and the fire and running and the pathetically too late emergency responders approaching.  This can’t be real.  None of this.

“We’ll wait a few more minutes before we try to drive out.”  He is still holding me.  I realize how uncomfortable he must be since we are in a small trunk.  I shift and he sighs as he manages to stretch out some but he still holds me.

He moves again and instead of me mostly on him, I find myself lying partially on my back, partially on my side, and he is blocking me from the trunk door.  It’s still not ideal, I can feel my knee wedged against something metal, but I don’t complain because he is pressing his forehead to mine and resumes rubbing my back.

I take a shuddering breath, gulp of air.  He reaches up and brushes the wetness from my cheeks and then keeps his hand on my cheek.  It’s so warm and strong and I almost start crying again.  It’s like every emotional door inside me was shattered with that window and I feel I have no control over anything.  Like I’ll have no control ever again.

I start to take deeper breaths, faster, and the word hyperventilating crosses my mind but I can’t stop.  My eyes feel the widest they’ve ever been.  I claw desperately at him and suddenly I just want to get out and now I am pushing him and almost hitting him.  I feel so removed from myself that I don’t care.

“Shhh, shhh, hey hey hey, we’re ok, it’s ok, shhhhh, shhhh,” he tries to soothe me with words.  

I squeezed shut my blurry eyes as I try to get away.  I feel him wrap himself around me; he tries to sooth me with his strength.

“Out out out,” I’m gasping, pleading and I think I’m getting louder and I know I should shut up, but I have no control and I shove at him but he’s locked me in his arms and legs.  I open my mouth and I know I am about to scream but instead I feel him.

He’s pressing his lips hard against me and my eyes fly open to be met by his clear blue ones looking right into me.  I know he did it to distract me, to keep me quiet.  My first thought is how pissed off I am—he’s kissing me to shut me up!  Then I feel his hand caress the back of my neck and my next thought is how nice that feels, so I let out some weird moan-scream into his mouth.

And that’s when I realize that he was kissing my open mouth and that he was gently letting his tongue touch mine.  Almost like a question.

My body knows what it wants.  But the kiss worked too well, it snapped me back to myself.  I can hear the chaos beyond us again, and feel my knee against the metal, and logic telling me not now, you both need to get out of there, get to safety.

He stops kissing, like he can see what I’m thinking.  He pulls his mouth off mine but moves back in to lightly peck my now closed lips a couple more times.  I close my eyes again; why did he do that?  The first kiss, I can eagerly understand; but the tender little pecks?  Shit.  I notice my hands are tangled in his shirt and I feel his heated skin and a tickle of light chest hair against my knuckles and I start to giggle.

“Did I ruin your shirt?”  He frowns; he must think I’m going insane, laughing right now after my freak out moments ago.

“No,” he whispers in a very husky whisper.  “Just unbuttoned it, I think.”  I don’t look because that would be very bad.  So I nod and keep returning his gaze.

I have no clue how long we look at each other, hold each other.  How long since the riot started and the mob broke in and we broke out.

Again, he reads my mind.  “It sounds quieter, I think it’s moved to the other side of the complex.  Might be our best chance.”

“Ok.”

He tries for a smile but it’s more like a grimace.  “Um, I think I dropped the keys under you, when I rolled us...”

“Oh.”

Now he does have the smallest smile.  I try to move but, of course, I can’t; he made it so I couldn’t move and so all I am doing now is grinding up against him.

He closes his eyes and reaches under me, searching, and we are both ignoring how parts are touching...

He finds the keys and the transformation on his face to all business, to all agent and protector and strategist…it’s almost shocking.  If I didn’t already know that face of his I’d be a little scared right then.

“I’m going to pop the trunk but hold it and look before we can get out, ok?”  I nod.  “You good?  You won’t try to push out before I give the go?”  I nod again, swallow, and nod once more.  “Ok.  Good.”

He clicks to unlock all the doors and the trunk.  A blessedly silent act.  Then he clicks the trunk and it tries to pop up but he was already holding it.  He does his thing, I can only see him from my position and none of the parking lot; I guess that was one reason he had moved us like that, now that I can think somewhat clearly again.

The wave of emotion that hits me this time is very confusing and very powerful and I bite my lip to hold it in.  I close my eyes.  Focus on staying still and quiet because that’s all he’s asked of me while he’s been so calm and kept us safe...

“You alright?”  I open my eyes.  He’s turned back and is almost crouching above me, his back holding open the trunk a sliver.  Again, I simply nod.  He nods back.  He gets that’s all I can offer at the moment and he doesn’t expect more.  I give a shuddering sigh but stay quiet.

He smiles gently.  “I’m getting out first, and then you.  We are both climbing into the driver’s side, you move over and onto the passenger floor.  Got it?”

Because I need to, because I feel that HE needs me to, I manage to whisper, “Got it.”  That makes his smile widen just slightly and I’m glad.

Then he’s out, he’s pulling me up and shoving me into the car and then over the center consul and I manage to get onto the floor as he is backing out faster than I can think.  I smell the rubber burn.

I look up at him from my ridiculous position.  His mouth is set in a tight flat frown and his eyes are darting around the road.  His hands are gripping the wheel but not in a death grip like I would be.  He’s holding the wheel just enough to control the high speed car and nothing more.

We must make it to some point he had in mind because he eases up on the accelerator and finally glances down at me.

The Agent is still there and I find myself utterly thankful for his training and self assurance and just everything.  Is this like Stockholm syndrome?  Or the Florence Nightingale effect?

“You good?”  I just stare at him.  “Hey, talk to me.  Are you hurt?”  I see his fingers twitch and I just know he wants to reach for me, comfort me.  But I don’t let the emotions overwhelm me this time.  I hate being a stupid, emotional girl.

“Can I get up now?” I manage to sound mostly normal.

He searches the mirrors before he nods once.  So I push myself up onto the passenger seat and groan when my body screams all its aches and bruises at me.  I can’t believe how much our escape seems to have physically gotten to me!  I can’t stop another groan escaping.  He doesn’t say anything, just watches out of the corner of his eye as I settle and buckle myself in.

Then I let out a huge sigh, my head falls back and I close my eyes.  I feel his hand lay on my knee and he gives me a tiny squeeze.  I think I offer a tiny smile in return.

He keeps his hand on me and I’ve never been more thankful for an automatic transmission than I am right then.  For the first time in who knows how long, I feel myself begin to relax.

More unknown time passes.  We slow down and I open my eyes to see us turning into a nothing motel’s parking lot.

“We need to contact ops and make some arrangements.  We don’t have our phones or identification but we do have cash.”  He gestures to the passenger door.  “It’s in the door, I just need to pry it open.”

Like everything else so far that day, it happens very fast and agonizingly slow.  We pay for a room, and a phone card, and we get inside and he locks the door behind us.  I sit on the bed as he quickly searches our ground floor room.  I see him reach for his sidearm a few times; in fact, I think he had done that when we were escaping as well, but of course he doesn’t have it and I know it’s upsetting him.

But he has kept me safe thus far without it.  He returns from clearing the bathroom and stands in front of me.  The crazy part of me wants to just pull him down on top of me, onto the bed, and let us either sleep or make out or more.

But he is still wearing agent face.  “You can use the bathroom, there’s no window; you can close, but please don’t lock, the door.  I’ve a few calls to make and then I’ll raid the vending machines.”

“Ok,” I sigh and stand up.  I’m exhausted and I feel lightheaded.  “Oh,” I gasp.  He reaches out and steadies me.  He brings a hand up to push my hair off my face.  I lean into it because it feels so nice.  “Thanks,” I mutter before pulling away to the bathroom.  

I turn as I reach the door and see him still standing there, watching me.  “Hey, how long, I mean, it’s been...I have no idea what time it is or how long it’s been since we left the complex.”  It’s not exactly a question but it was the best I could do.

He offers me an understanding smile.  “It’s past dinner time.  I think you fell asleep a few times in the car.”  He moves toward the phone on the small dresser.  “We left around 10:45 this morning.”  And he starts his call so I just close the door.

I hear him faintly before I turn on the water to splash my face.  When I return several minutes later, he is pacing the room.  He stops when he sees me.

“Any requests from the vending machine?”

“Uh, clean clothes?  Deodorant?”  I try to joke.  But I’m too exhausted and I can see he’s not in the mood either.  So I shrug.  “Chips, chocolate, juice?”

He nods and moves toward the door.  I suddenly follow him and put my hand on his arm.  He stops, and looks first at my hand and then my face.

“I just,” I swallow.  “I just want to say thank you.  For everything.  You know.”

“Sure, of course.”  He squeezes my hand before opening the door.  “I’ll be right back.  With chocolate.”  And then he actually winks at me and grins.

Great.  I shake my head and lock the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I almost never write in first person or present tense but it does make it seem more exciting, I think. Any helpful and kind feedback is great.  
> :)


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